


A Christmas Tune in Want of a Title

by misbegotten



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 06:45:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8963815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misbegotten/pseuds/misbegotten
Summary: It stirs Robbie, wakens him to all good things and pulls him out of a dream he'd been having.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dine/gifts).



> For dine, who is feeling puny, from me, who is feeling puny. Merry Christmas.

The smell of him is intoxicating. James smells of sweat; of the cold, clear air of a December out by the river; of stale cigarette smoke and the tannins of the tea he just had before climbing back into bed and putting his still cool arms around Robbie. It's a smell headier than a fine stout and more bracing than a cup of coffee. It stirs Robbie, wakens him to all good things and pulls him out of a dream he'd been having about being with James, feeling James, taking James.

Well now he's got the real thing, hasn't he? What is an old copper to do but investigate?

James peeled off his running clothes before sliding under the duvet and Robbie, not one to stand on ceremony when there's sex on offer, quickly sheds his pants. They're holiday themed boxers, a gift from James, but that's neither here not there other than the fact that they're a damned sight easier to pull off over his erection than the tight briefs he used to wear. 

But there's detecting on hand, before carnal delights. James had tea, that much Robbie can taste, but oh! There's a crumb at the corner of his mouth too, and Robbie kisses it away. Flaky pasty, which must mean chocolate croissant from the patisserie that they both like. James made a stop between his run and his return home. That bodes well for later.

Out of the corner of his eye, Robbie notes that James has discarded his heavier running jacket on the floor, which indicates that James went the long way round, meaning he feels good and energetic this morning. That bodes well for Robbie too.

Finally, there's that smell. Hearty sweat, which means that James has not showered, which definitely bodes well for Robbie. They've nowhere to be on Christmas morning and there's plenty of time for a long, hard shag before an indulgent, steamy shower afterwards. That bodes best for Robbie.

"Are you done?" James asks, his tone dry and amused. As if he doesn't know exactly what Robbie has been doing and why currently Robbie has his nose buried in the crook of James' neck.

"Croissant?" Robbie asks hopefully.

"Excellent deduction, Holmes," James retorts. His hands are busy, tracing the outline of Robbie's shoulders, arms, twining his fingers through Robbie's for a brief moment before moving on to Robbie's hips. "But not fresh. I popped by last night before they closed. Even bakers get Christmas morning off."

"Ah well," Robbie sighs philosophically. "Can't have everything." And curses himself again for leaving James behind to finish paperwork on Christmas Eve, but he'd wanted to wrap James' gift when James wasn't around.

"It's Christmas," James teases him. "All wishes come true." He pauses in his exploration of the planes of Robbie's back. "Except fresh croissant."

"Day old does me fine," Robbie says, nipping at James' too prominent collarbone. All angles and edges, the man is. He needs fattening up.

" _You_ do me fine," James responds easily. And then, so casually, "Presents?"

"What?" Robbie pretends outrage. He presses his stiff cock against James. "And leave me like this?"

"I'd be putting both of us out, rather" James observes, a trifle sadly, and Robbie can't help melting a little. Not physically, mind you. That takes some effort and sheer will. But emotionally, James has reduced him to the remnants of a snowflake.

"All right," Robbie relents. "Presents."

James grins and scrambles out of bed, and Robbie can hear paper rustling in the next room and then James returns and lays out onto the bed a wealth of small packages with Robbie's name on them. "Pick one," he says, as gleeful as a child.

"Ah," Robbie tut-tuts. "Age before beauty." He fishes a box out from under his pillow, the golden bow on it a bit crushed now, but the paper intact. "Open mine to you."

James is obviously pleased, and unwraps the paper. Robbie had put it in a more nondescript box, but there's only a second before James works out what he's holding and his hands shake a bit.

There's a breathless pause.

"If it doesn't fit, we can get it resized," Robbie says carefully, into the void. "And if you don't want to wear it on your hand, I've got a chain. You can wear it on that, beneath your shirt."

The pause extends, and Robbie wonders if he's made a foolish mistake.

"James?"

"I—" James is, unusually, bereft of words. He takes out the gold ring and holds it in his palm, then folds his fingers around it. "I'll wear it on my hand, thanks." His tone is light, but when Robbie risks a look into his eyes Robbie sees tears there. They'll both be sobbing like girls in a second.

He doesn't help matters by adding, gently, "I want everyone to know that you're taken. That you're mine, if you'll have me."

James slides the ring onto his finger and flexes his hand, watching the sunlight play on the gold. "With my body, I thee worship," he says quietly.

"Aye," Robbie says, and takes the ringed hand in his. "But I want the rest of you too."

James blinks furiously, and tightly returns Robbie's grip. "I'm for you, Robert. I always have been."

"Happy Christmas, James."

"Happy Christmas, Robbie," James says. And flings the duvet, remaining gifts and all, to the floor.

That bodes extremely well for Robbie, doesn't it? 

Christmas, it turns out, is a rousing success on all fronts.


End file.
